What Would I Give?
by Lisa Von Cooper
Summary: "He had tried to cling on to the past, and in the process he had thrown away his future. From now until eternity, he was completely at Anti-Cosmo's mercy, a toy in his grip, to be pushed and pulled this way and that, with no hope of release."
1. Chapter One: Imprisonment

**Author's Note: This began as a parody of "The Little Mermaid," but quickly grew beyond that into … well, into this. If you're a fan of Anti-Cosmo, this should be a lot of fun for you. If you think Anti-Wanda has been unfairly ignored, I hope this satisfies you, too. In fact, I hope all fans of** _ **The Fairly OddParents**_ **will enjoy reading this!**

 **What Would I Give?**

 _What would I give for a heart of flesh to warm me through,_

 _Instead of this heart of stone ice-cold whatever I do!_

 _Hard and cold and small, of all hearts the worst of all._

 _What would I give for words, if only words would come!_

 _But now in its misery my spirit has fallen dumb._

 _O merry friends, go your own way, I have never a word to say._

 _What would I give for tears! Not smiles but scalding tears,_

 _To wash the black mark clean, and to thaw the frost of years,_

 _To wash the stain ingrain, and to make me clean again._

 _Christina Rossetti, "What Would I Give?"_

Chapter One: Imprisonment

Timmy regarded the figure in the mirror, still scarcely able to believe it was him. So much had changed: the fangs, the boils, the yellow skin, the claws. Only a pair of black shorts, with white skulls emblazoned on the buttocks, concealed his modesty. He ran his bony fingers through the hair on his head, which was now raven-black, shoulder-length and always tangled, no matter how many times he thought he had brushed all the knots out this time. His eyes used to be bright blue and sparkle with life; today, they were as dull as fog, occasionally glowing red with the embers of fear and misery.

He sighed without making a sound and settled down to bed. In a darkened corner, he rolled part of the bear rug around him, seeking as much comfort as possible. Though a giant fireplace was roaring along one wall, the castle remained deathly icy, and the large black stones comprising the walls and floor did little to brighten up the place. He sunk into the bear's soft fur and squeezed his eyes shut, glad to have some respite after his long day.

A giant wooden door burst open with a tremendous squeak.

His eyelids snapped back again. A creature with azure skin, bat-like wings and a giant monocle drifted into the bedroom.

Anti-Cosmo. The self-proclaimed leader of the anti-fairies.

"Timothy," he announced in a smooth British accent.

The being he addressed did not reply. Maybe if he ignored the intruder, they would go away.

"What's this I hear about you destroying a chandelier and punching my son?"

That made him sit up and listen.

"Foop tells me you two were playing catch in the _dining hall_ of all places because you wouldn't let him find a more suitable venue." Anti-Cosmo approached in a slow, stately manner. "You threw the tennis ball to him, but it bounced off the wall and hit the chandelier, sending it crashing to the ground. When he tried to tell Anti-Wanda what had happened, you yanked him back and punched him to keep him quiet."

Timmy shook his head furiously. It was all nonsense. Foop had been the one to blow the chandelier to smithereens with his magic baby bottle. The black eye was from when he hit himself in the face with the ball, in a completely unrelated incident. He hadn't even wanted to play with Timmy, he was just bouncing things against the wall by himself, so it was his own stupid fault that he hurt himself.

Sadly, the dumbstruck fellow had no way of communicating this to Foop's father.

"Is it true?" Anti-Cosmo knelt on the floor and held Timmy by the shoulders. "Say yes or no. That's all I ask."

The accused mouthed, "No."

"I can't hear you." The man cupped his pointed ear. "Speak up!"

Timmy tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. Why was Anti-Cosmo playing his ridiculous game? He knew perfectly well what the situation was like. Nothing about this line of questioning was fair.

"Well, it's my son's word against yours." The patriarch sniggered. "You don't even _have_ a word for me." He stroked his chin. "How should I punish you, I wonder?"

The judge ambled in the direction of his four-poster bed, a large steel tomb with a blood-red quilt, thick black curtains and cobwebs hanging in every corner. Timmy chewed on his bottom lip as he waited and waited for the sentence to be passed.

A wave of the wand exchanged Anti-Cosmo's old-fashioned suit for a surprisingly-normal set of stripy pyjamas. He snuggled down, paused, and then shuffled over, folding the quilt back and patting the space he had left behind him. "Come to bed with me."

Timmy remained where he was, his stare fixed on this sinister gentleman.

" _Now._ "

The command was abrupt and verging on a shout – yet the servant stayed absolutely still. He wasn't ready to give in, not now, not like this, not when he had no idea what was coming next.

"Very well." Anti-Cosmo rolled his eyes. "I'll have to _make_ you come to me, won't I?"

All of a sudden, Timmy was standing, but not of his own accord. He was pulled towards the bed by an invisible rope, feet dragging along the ground. With a sickening lurch, he spun through the air until he was horizontal and flopped onto the mattress.

The curtains closed around the bed, sealing in both the slave and his master. They were plunged into blackness, save for the sheen of Anti-Cosmo's fangs and the glint in his eyes as he hovered above Timmy.

 _This is my punishment? A night in a comfortable bed instead of tossing and turning on the floor?_ Timmy allowed himself a tiny grin.

"What's so funny?"

The grin vanished. _How could he see that?_

Judging by the intensity of the glow-in-the-dark scowl and the strong scent of cologne, danger was just inches away from Timmy's face. He had to get out. He had to get away from this malevolent person. But he couldn't. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. Every attempt to flex a muscle was met with a futile fight against the dead weight in his limbs. He was paralysed, floppy as a rag doll.

The anti-fairy picked up Timmy's hand and placed it on Timmy's bare chest. They waited together.

"There's nothing there," said Anti-Cosmo. "No heartbeat whatsoever. Do you understand? You're nothing, Timothy. You're a worthless piece of meat. Nobody cares about what happens to you."

By now the child's eyes were brimming with saltwater. He wished it wouldn't spill over. He wished he could kid himself that Anti-Cosmo's barbs were merely lies. _Why does he let me live if he hates me so much?_

"Oh, don't cry, Timothy. It's pathetic." He scraped the moisture away with firm, frosty hands. "You brought it on yourself. Do you think anyone would listen to your tale of sheer idiocy and feel anything close to pity? Do you think anyone could still find it in themselves to love a horrible little creature like you?" He halted his tirade before conceding, "Of course, you have me." He rolled Timmy over and tugged his shorts over his buttocks. "But what I feel for you can't exactly be called love."

 _What is he talking ab-?_

Timmy's thoughts were interrupted by the sharp pain shooting up his spine.

…

Timmy knew exactly when his troubles began. It had been the day after Valentine's Day, and Cupid's triumphant parade was trundling through Fairy World. Rows of cherubs with feathery wings and oversized diapers marched down Main Street, followed by giant tanks in incongruous shades of pastel pink.

The godchild looked up at Cosmo and Wanda. They were focused on the parade, one arm around their beloved, the other waving tiny white flags with "I Love Love" written in red cursive. He turned away, picked a path through the crowd and scoured the area for street signs.

 _Left, right, left again, and it's the tent on the edge of Fairy World. Shouldn't be too hard._

And it wasn't. Timmy soon came across a tall octagonal tent, big enough for roughly six people, definitely not many more. It was a retina-searing mixture of deep navy and bright orange, and the canvas was frayed at the edges. The yellow words reading ETERNITY SCHEME APPLICANTS had been sloppily painted onto a board covered in rusty nails, a board that appeared to have been cobbled together from fragments of driftwood.

This should have been the first sign that coming here was a terrible idea.

But instead of turning back, Timmy slipped through the flaps and entered. The circular hole in the roof of the tent illuminated a round table laden with coloured bottles – potions, Timmy theorised. Behind this, a short man lingered in the shadows.

"Greetings, Timothy," said Anti-Cosmo. "I've been expecting you."

This should have been the second sign.

Fortunately, unlike the first time, Timmy listened to his gut. "I was just leaving," he blurted, spinning around to make his escape.

ANTI-POOF!

"GAH!"

Anti-Cosmo had teleported right in front of him. "Where are you going, lad? You've only just arrived." He leaned forwards, forcing Timmy to step back inside.

"There-there must be some mi-mi-mistake," Timmy stuttered. "I'm-I'm trying to join the Eternity Scheme-"

"Which is my area of expertise," the mischief-maker butted in. "I'm sure you're aware that it's normally only meant for godchildren with terminal illnesses. However, I have persuaded the Fairy Council to make you a special case." He swept back into his starting position behind the desk.

Timmy scrutinised the crumpled flyer he had found attached to a lamp post in Fairy World weeks ago. Nowhere did it warn him that he would have to contend with magical beings whose _raison d'être_ was spreading bad luck. "Who put you in charge?" he grilled.

"Jorgen Von Strangle, of course. I have the certification here." Anti-Cosmo waved a card in front of Timmy's face, too quickly for the boy to read it. "Letting the anti-fairies organise the programme acts as a nice little incentive to the new recruits."

"What kind of incentive?"

"Mr Von Strangle likes to set each potential fairy three tasks." He opened a royal blue bottle; its thick pungent smoke in a matching shade billowed into the tent. "If you complete them all within the week, you can remain a fairy forever."

The smoke thinned out to reveal three white silhouettes. They all had wands and wings and floaty crowny things, the characteristics of a fairy. The figure in the middle, the smallest one, appeared to be dancing, while the other two looked on and clapped along.

Then the scene took a turn. The middle figure fell to the floor, sprouting horns and a tail. The other two flew away. The smoke turned red. The child whipped its head from side to side, searching for a friendly face.

"But if you don't pass the test, you'll turn into a hideous beast and thereafter belong to the anti-fairies for all eternity."

A swarm of bat-like creatures surrounded the fiendish silhouette and dragged him into the darkness, leaving claw marks in the ground behind him.

The story having reached its conclusion, the smoke dissipated.

Anti-Cosmo stroked the godchild's paling cheek with his cold blue fingers. "If you want to cross the Rainbow Bridge, Timothy, you'll have to pay the toll."

Timmy's heartbeat was so loud it echoed in his ears. Part of him was begging him not to go through with this. _Haven't you always had a bad feeling about this guy? How do you know he knows what he's doing? How can you trust him to be telling the whole truth? Plus, if you fail, you're basically stuck being his slave. Don't do it. It's not worth the risk._

Another part was egging him on. _It's just a bit of hazing, the usual Von Strangle treatment. How bad can it be? If you can defeat the pixies, fight comic book supervillains and stop Vicky using a magic TV remote to take over the world, you can do anything. Besides, you'll never have to say goodbye to Cosmo and Wanda and Poof. Isn't that what you want?_

He gulped down his last lingering doubts. "Let's do this."

"Brilliant!" Anti-Cosmo ducked under the table and returned with a coffee-stained document and a quill. "Just leave your signature at the bottom of this declaration."

Timmy took the sheet and skimmed over the clauses. "Wait a minute, it says they'll want to take my voice for the week. Why do they want my voice?"

"To prevent cheating."

"What kind of cheating?"

"They don't want you calling on your godparents and making wishes." Anti-Cosmo nonchalantly polished his monocle, as if he'd had to explain this a million times before. "If you did, you would simply be having other fairies solve your problems for you. It wouldn't be a true test of skill."

Timmy shrugged. "Makes sense, I guess. But I'll get my voice back at the end, right?"

"If you succeed."

He didn't like that tone. " _When_ I succeed," Timmy corrected him, more for his own benefit than Anti-Cosmo's. He finished reading, took the pen that was offered to him and scrawled his name on the dotted line.

The paper folded itself up and dissolved into thin air before he could change his mind.

Anti-Cosmo mixed two potions together in a vial, one lime-green, one baby-pink, together forming something brown and cloudy. He pressed the concoction into Timmy's hand. "Drink this. All of it."

Timmy took a quick swig and handed the vial back, gasping at the way it burnt his mouth.

"Talk," he was ordered.

"Talk?"

"Yes, about yourself, about your friends, about anything you want. Hurry! The spell won't wait forever."

"Uh, my name is Timmy Turner, I'm ten years old…" He hesitated.

"Keep going!" Anti-Cosmo snapped.

"What? You want me to _keep_ talking? Okay, uh, I live in Dimmsdale with my mom and dad, and my fairy godparents are Cosmo and Wanda, and they have a son called Poof, and they live in my goldfish bowl…"

He choked on his own words and spat out a thread. He gagged a little as this thread was followed by successive folds, a lilac ribbon spiralling away from him into Anti-Cosmo's hand.

A glittery yellow mist swirled around the boy's body and lifted him up. It burst outwards and dropped him again almost immediately after. He arched his back and winced as tiny insect wings were thrust from his shoulder blades, crackling as they came into existence. His head felt so light it could float off his body; patting his hair, he caught the points of the crown.

The transformation was complete.

But the most difficult stage was only just beginning.

…

 _Complete a two-million-piece jigsaw puzzle without assistance, either personal or magical._

That was his final task. For some reason. But Timmy, being his naïve simple-minded self, didn't question it. He didn't have time to question it. It was the last day of the deal and he needed to make up for falling behind earlier in the week.

He'd got up at the crack of dawn and found the perfect open space for the task: a meadow in Fairy World, devoid of obstacles except for a tree growing at one end. He scrutinised the picture on the deceptively-small box. He would be recreating a fairy's party scene, brimming with colour and energy, scattered with some familiar faces here and there. It was detailed. It was huge. It was nearly impossible.

 _I can do this before sunset. I have to do this before sunset._

He tipped out a mountain of pieces and began the daunting challenge of sorting the edges from the rest. Sky, cloud, sky, sky with bird, grass, nose, grass with foot…

Time passed. The sun rose and bore down on him, willing him to melt. His stomach protested against the lack of food and wouldn't stop; he ignored it and slotted a piece with part of Jorgen's biceps into its proper place.

Time passed. He found something that looked suspiciously like Cosmo's hair. He was then diverted, rummaging through the pile for the rest of Cosmo, and Wanda too. If nothing else, he had to make sure those two fairies were complete.

Time passed. He grew weary. He could barely keep his eyes open. His miniscule insect wings could barely support him. The shadow of the tree lengthened until it was obscuring half the picture. He wished the day could last for a month, a week, and then the jigsaw would be done.

Time passed. Timmy was desperate. He crammed a disembodied hand into a slice of cake, even though they clearly didn't fit together, because he was wild, because his heart was pounding, because he needed to do something, anything –

The sun dipped below the horizon.

It was over.

He briefly surveyed his full day's work.

The jigsaw was still only half-finished.

Timmy Turner had failed.

Anti-Cosmo arrived in a plume of filthy black smoke. He looked down on his new possession with cold green eyes. "Give up, boy."

Timmy did not halt his frantic hands. He still had a chance. It wasn't the end. It couldn't be.

"You're too late." The devil folded his arms. "Stop struggling on. It's no use."

The kid faltered, letting the pieces slip through his fingers.

Anti-Cosmo unsheathed his pitch-black wand and pointed the star-shaped tip at the quivering fairy. "You're mine, Timothy."

A stream of energy crashed into the youngster's head and knocked him over.

The world vanished until all Timmy could see was red. He doubled over in pain as the wings and crown were torn off. His skin shifted out of place, twisting and stretching like an elastic band. Tiny (but sharp) claws burst from his fingers and toes. He expelled a muted shriek and clutched his head as fangs jutted out beside his buck teeth. Giant boils erupted on his face.

When the ordeal ceased, Timmy dared to sit up and look at himself more closely. His skin was now a sickly grungy yellow. When he stroked his arm, it felt like sandpaper. _No. This isn't happening. It's a dream. It's a nightmare. I'll wake up soon. I will._

Unfortunately, it wasn't, and he didn't.

He had mutated into something monstrous that night.

And Anti-Cosmo had been smiling the whole way through.

…

That was before, and this was after.

Following his light dreamless sleep, Timmy was jolted awake by his superior sliding out from under the covers and drawing the curtains around the bed. "Good morning, Timothy. Last night was absolutely marvellous."

 _Last night?_

Then he remembered.

And he really wished he hadn't.

Timmy could not respond to Anti-Cosmo's statement. He lay on his back, the sheets wrapped tightly around him. He stared at the roof above the bed, still recovering from the torment. His pupils shrunk in fear, in the anticipation of further…

The elder one chuckled. "Was I too rough with you? You should have just said so." He cackled at his own cruel joke. "Still, I hope you've learned your lesson."

Timmy nodded. _Stay away from Foop so he can't get me into trouble again._

The door was suddenly flung open, making him flinch. A female anti-fairy, with pink eyes and crooked teeth and bouffant hair and the same unusual shade of skin as her husband, presented a tray of what she clearly thought was food. "Howdy, partner!" Anti-Wanda drawled.

"Good morning, crumpet," was her husband's rather stiff reply.

"Ah made ya breakfast in bed!" She thrust the tray into Anti-Cosmo's lap. "Waffles an' eyeballs!"

In spite of the unusual ingredients rolling about on the plate, Timmy's stomach rumbled at the thought of waffles.

Anti-Cosmo noticed. "Oh, do you want some, too?" He skewered a large steaming waffle on his fork and held it out to Timmy. Sumptuous butter dribbled between the square holes. The boy licked his lips and reached for the treat.

The waffle was pulled back. "Say please!"

Timmy froze. He'd walked right into another trap. He bowed his head, unable to answer.

"No? More for me, then." Anti-Cosmo took a large bite and chewed very slowly, revelling in the torture he was inflicting on the lad, whose tummy was growling without end.

"Aw, don't be such a meanie! The boy needs food!" Anti-Wanda offered Timmy an eyeball. "There, sweetie. Git yerself somethin' in yer belly."

He obliged, popping the whole organ into his mouth, trying to ignore its gruesome origins out of respect for her. It had a sharp bitter taste, but it was something to eat, and he needed to be thankful for that.

"You spoil him, dear," Anti-Cosmo grumbled.

"Nah, Ah ain't spoilin' 'im. Yer jus' hurtin' 'im." She put her hands on her hips. "Why ya doin' that, huh?"

"A more pressing question is, why am I married to you?"

"Even Ah know that. 'Cause Cosmo married Wanda."

"Don't remind me."

"You asked, dingus! Now who's the stupid one?" Her eyeballs spun in two different directions. "Speakin' o' stupid one, Ah gotta go soon."

"Ah, yes." Anti-Cosmo swept up the last dregs of butter. "I almost forgot about Scrutiny Day."

Anti-Wanda peered round at Timmy's puzzled face. "Ya never heard of it? It's an inspection. They git some random anti-fairies tuh meet their counter – counter – whatever you call 'em – counterparts! That's it! They meet us an' make sure we's all behavin'." She tugged her husband out of bed by one of his pointy ears. "An' you, sir, gotta git yer poor wife tuh th'Anti-Fairy Council buildin' 'fore she gits a black mark 'fore she's even beginned."

"Begun," Anti-Cosmo corrected her with a groan.

"Well, 'scuse me! Ya know I ain't a linguist!"

"And you should know that I'm not a patient man. Can't you find your own way there? You're moronic, yes, but not that moronic. Begone and sort yourself out while I prepare for today's many meetings!"

"You an' yer meetin's!"

"They're very important meetings, I'll have you know. With our greatest enemy virtually incapacitated," he explained, ruffling Timmy's hair with a sickening smile, "nothing can stop us taking over the world!" He swept past his wife and left the room, leaving behind the echoes from his evil laughter.

Anti-Wanda giggled. "He's so cute when he's plottin'." She flew to Timmy's side. "Jus' ignore that other stuff. Ah think he's stressed. He don't mean nothin' by it."

Without warning, Timmy wrapped his arms around her. His eyes were pricking, and he wished they weren't.

"What's wrong, buddy?"

There was no reply.

"Ah can't help ya if ya don't use yer words."

Timmy's anguish would be fairly hard to describe even if he did have a voice. He knew that anti-fairies were the opposite of fairies. So if Anti-Wanda was being kind to him, it surely meant the real Wanda hated his guts. But why? Because he'd disappeared without telling her why? Because she'd somehow heard about the plan and knew how dangerous and irresponsible it was and couldn't believe he really went through with it?

Actually, he'd answered his own question.

Then again, Timmy knew how frightening Wanda could be when she was slighted. When they found Vicky's diary and read the passage in which she called Wanda a "fat pink squirrel", the godmother was itching to set a gang of ruffians and thugs on the babysitter. So if Wanda could be mostly supportive with moments of ferocity, maybe it made Anti-Wanda mischievous with moments of kindness. It wouldn't be too much of a stretch to believe that.

Likewise, Cosmo was an idiot with flashes of genius, so perhaps Anti-Cosmo was really a genius with flashes of idiocy. And one of those flashes would be a great time to make his getaway.

A flicker of hope danced in Timmy's mind, the only light in this gloomy situation. He released Anti-Wanda and smiled at her.

"Did Ah make it better?"

He nodded.

But the return of a now-fully-dressed Anti-Cosmo threatened to undo it all in less than a second.

"Are you still here?" he asked his wife.

"Y'all have a nice day, too," she hit back.

He grudgingly left a peck on her forehead. "Remember, Anti-Wanda, do not say a word about Timothy."

"Gotcha."

"I mean it. No-one must know we have him."

"Okay, okay! Ah ain't gonna say nothin'!" She disappeared in a flurry of navy fairy dust.

Anti-Cosmo and Timmy were alone together. The tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

"I bring news of Cosmo and Wanda."

Timmy leapt out of bed.

"Do you remember the clone of you I sent down to Earth while you were trying, and _failing_ ," he added with a smirk, "to complete all those tasks? It turns out he was much less well-behaved than you are. Over-wishing, insolence, physical abuse … Cosmo and Wanda were run ragged under his dictatorship."

Timmy's stomach lurched. _Don't tell me…_

"They quit, Timothy. They don't want to be your fairy godparents anymore. They don't want anything to do with you."

So they really did hate his guts. And it was all Anti-Cosmo's fault for not conjuring a better clone.

 _No. It's my fault. I didn't think. I never think._

Somewhere, in the distance, a grandfather clock chimed.

"Ah-ha! Time to depart." A shiny briefcase appeared in Anti-Cosmo's hand. "You've been up all night, so I'll grant you a short lie-in." He kissed a boil on Timmy's cheek. "But you must be ready to attend on Foop by eleven o'clock. He's always a little troublesome in the middle of the day." He left Timmy with the image of his passive-aggressive toothy grin burnt into his memory.

Timmy wanted Cosmo and Wanda. He needed Cosmo and Wanda. But they weren't coming; he knew that now. They would think of him and see a brat, a tyrant, a thug. Oh, how much worse it would be if they knew what he'd really done, what he'd been through as a punishment, how badly he'd been soiled…

He clutched his stomach, panting, barely holding back the vomit. Last night was, without a doubt, the worst night of his life. He was like a flower whose petals had been stripped by a girl singing, "He loves me, he loves me not." He had been emptied of all that was made of light and goodness, and Anti-Cosmo had replaced it with shaking trembling fear, sticky murky disgust, suffocating heavy sadness – things that do not belong inside a ten-year-old boy.

And then a question was raised, a question so horrific it made his flesh crawl. Could he – could he get _pregnant_ from that?

He shoved the thought into the furthest corner of his mind. It was only the fairies who made the men carry the babies. Anti-fairy pregnancy worked in the same way as human pregnancy. So two men couldn't have a child, not like this. And wasn't he still too young?

But the thought was still there. It returned, begging to be listened to, begging to make him anxious. He couldn't let it go.

 _I have to get out while I still can._

He ran. He ran along the hallways, down the stairs, past the portraits that seemed to watched him wherever he went, chasing down the exit.

The drawbridge! It was open! Yes, the purple path leading away from the castle was covered in giant silver thorns, but so what? It was freedom! Timmy picked up speed, ready to feel the fresh air on his body –

He slammed into a wall.

He stumbled back and fell to the floor. _What the heck was that?_ He stood and stretched his hands out. They pressed against an invisible barrier, which started to glow white and hum the more they tried to break through.

There had to be another way. Flitting from draughty chamber to draughty chamber, Timmy tried a window, then another, then another. Every time, the result was the same: he reached a limit that forbade him from going any further.

Anti-Cosmo had erected a force field around the fortress. He had anticipated Timmy's next move before Timmy knew he would make it. He truly was an evil genius.

What now? The kid could hardly cry for help.

Unless…

Back in the bedroom, Timmy flung open the drawers in Anti-Cosmo's mahogany desk, searching for paper. He grabbed a quill and scribbled a letter – with difficulty, because he wasn't used to writing with a feather.

 _Cosmo, Wanda,_

 _I'm sure you both hate me now, but I hope you get this message because I need you. I'm scared. I'm scared of what I've turned into. I'm scared of being alone. But most of all, I'm scared of Anti-Cosmo. I'm stuck in his castle and I can't get out and he's horrible to me. He makes me feel dirty and small. I don't know what bad thing he's going to do to me next and it terrifies me and I hate it! I want to go home. I want to be an average kid again and not this beast. I want you guys back. I'm sorry I was so stupid. I wish you were here. I wish there was something you could do to save me. I wish you would forgive me._

 _Timmy_

He wrenched open a barred window and stuck his hand out as far as he could. He let go of the piece of paper and watched it dancing on the wind, twirling to and fro, zigzagging across the sky.

It snagged on a curl of barbed wire.

He held his breath.

It broke free. It disappeared behind an angry blood-red cloud.

All he could do now was wait for them to come.

He'd been offered a lie-in, but he couldn't face the bed, not after what had happened there last night. Lying on the bear rug, all alone, Timmy had plenty of time to reflect on his many, many, many mistakes.

How could he leave? He rolled over in a huff. Getting past the magical force field and the barbed wire surrounding Anti-Fairy World (and possibly a dozen other booby traps) would be bad enough, but wherever he went, his captor was sure to follow him, breathing down his neck, reminding him that he would never be safe. If he were a raindrop, he could fall into the ocean and never be found again; sadly, life would not be so simple. It was a valuable lesson he had learnt from having fairy godparents: nothing is ever as easy as it should be.

And what about those godparents? What about Cosmo and Wanda and Poof? Timmy had no idea where his fairy family could be found and had little confidence in his letter reaching them. They probably wouldn't even want to see him, let alone help him out of this predicament. If they quitted after a week of being taken for granted, how badly would they react to the knowledge that their godson had been so desperate not to lose them that he had made a deal with one of the most devious anti-fairies in existence?

Timmy buried his ugly face in the rug to catch his tears. He had tried to cling on to the past, and in the process he had thrown away his future. From now until eternity, he was completely at Anti-Cosmo's mercy, a toy in his grip, to be pushed and pulled this way and that, with no hope of release.

He wept and wept, but his sobs were silent. No-one could hear him, and no-one came to rescue him.


	2. Chapter Two: Escape

**Author's Note: Thank you for the lovely reviews! Amarantus, yours was beautifully worded – if only I could be half as poetic as you are! :) Marlowe's version of "Doctor Faustus" has been on my mind recently; I studied it at school last year. As for the Snow Queen allusion, that was a complete accident, but when I thought about it some more, I realised how fitting it was.**

 **I'm still having a debate over whether to keep this as a twoshot or add a third chapter; if I go for the latter option, then I'll be tempted to do a fourth chapter, because what I have planned for the third chapter may be unpopular… Or the story could change completely and I won't have this dilemma. Anyway, for now, enjoy the second chapter!**

 _i will tell you about selfish people. even when they know they will hurt you they walk into your life to taste you because you are the type of being they don't want to miss out on. you are too much shine to not be felt. so when they have gotten a good look at everything you have to offer. when they have taken your skin your hair and your secrets with them. when they realise how real this is. how much of a storm you are and it hits them._

 _that is when the cowardice sets in. that is when the person you thought they were is replaced by the sad reality of what they are. that is when they lose every fighting bone in their body…_

 _Rupi Kaur, extract from "selfish"_

Chapter Two: Escape

The redecorated Anti-Fairy Council building could have been constructed out of flames. The floor and steps were comprised of the same old holey worm-eaten planks, but from these the majestic marble columns extended, red turning to yellow turning to white. Inside, a domed roof made of stained glass detailed the anti-fairies' greatest achievements: spiders, paper cuts, pinkeye and crazy cow disease.

The heat was stifling. Wanda sat on the edge of her purple cushioned throne and peeled her t-shirt away; it was sticking to her sweaty skin and did nothing to alleviate her bad mood. _Let's get this over with before we all expire._

Her polar opposite flopped down in the rickety black rocking chair on the other side of the oak desk, finishing off a sandwich she had been eating with her feet. The two Wandas were the only ones in the room, though the good fairy suspected the giant panel of glass along one wall was more than just a mirror.

Anti-Wanda licked the crumbs off her toes. "Whatcha got for us, Pinkie Pie?"

Wanda ignored the nickname and shuffled her papers. She began reading the list of questions to her imperfect doppelgänger. "Have you ever used magic to _directly_ maim, injure, beat or kill another?"

"Hoo, boy." Anti-Wanda picked a scrap of lettuce from between her teeth. "One time, Ah put a spell on our TV tuh make it work again, but it fell over an' squished muh husband. Does that count?"

"No, because you weren't trying to hurt him. You were trying to fix the TV. The squishing was an indirect consequence."

Anti-Wanda blinked. "Sure, let's go wi' that. I ain't never hurt no-one."

"Good." The pink-haired one kept her gaze low. "Have you ever interfered with the course of true love?"

"Nope."

"Have you ever used magic to influence the outcome of a competition?"

"Yuh mean cheat?"

"Sort of."

"Then no way. No siree bob."

 _If this keeps going, I'll be out in time for lunch._ "Have you kidnapped any human beings in the past year?"

Anti-Wanda's eyes darted from left to right. "So how's Timmy?"

"Hey, I'm supposed to ask _you_ the questions."

"Sure, 'cause all us anti-fairies is evil an' all you fairies is good an' we's the only ones what needs proddin' an' pokin'. That's racist."

Wanda shoved her papers aside. "If you must know, we're not Timmy's godparents anymore."

"Aw, shucks! You guys had a great thing goin'! What happened?"

"I – I don't fully understand it." Wanda deflated; she hadn't been able to speak about it in detail to anyone. "Something went wrong. He changed. We couldn't do anything for him. We just had to leave and let him sort his own life out. He was so rude and … awful."

"Awful? But Timmy's a sweet little – oh, yuh talkin' 'bout that there clone."

"Clone? What clone?"

"The clone muh hubby sent while Timmy was bein' a fairy."

"Timmy, a fairy?" Wanda leaned forwards. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, Ah better start from the beginnin'. Well, see here, Timmy showed up one day askin' 'bout this here rule that lets human kids become _bona fide_ fairies, an' ol' Cozzie, he tells him tuh be a fairy for a week, an' he'll either stay that way forever or turn intuh some beast an' be his slave. Well, Ah think that's what he told him. An' that Timmy, that trooper, he gave it his best shot, but he can't do it, he jus' can't do it. So now he lives with us. He sure is grouchy, Ah gotta tell ya, but at least he's great with Foop."

Wanda's jaw fell onto the table.

Roughly three seconds later, Anti-Wanda stopped gawking, gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. "Ah done said too much, ain't Ah?"

…

Foop had been intolerable all day. _Bring me my ba-ba, you gargoyle! Change my nappy, you freak! Glue together this intricate model of Fairy World so I can instantly obliterate it, you abomination!_ Timmy made sure not to react to the name-calling; it was no worse than the way Vicky constantly referred to him as a "twerp". At least, that was what he told himself.

By the time Anti-Wanda breezed into the kitchen (which, with its chrome fittings and island, was the most modern part of the castle), the drudge had bags under his eyes and aching leg muscles. He was standing on a stool and bent over the sink, scrubbing Foop's bowl clean of mush while the baby watched from afar. A tower of plates wobbled on the side.

"Good afternoon, mother," said Foop, bobbing about above the island.

"AH DIDN'T SAY NOTHIN'!" Anti-Wanda barked. She paused and cleared her throat. "Ah mean, hi, darlin'." She hugged her son. "Didja have fun with Timmy?"

"Oh, yes, it was splendid, mother," the infant simpered. "I do enjoy Timmy's company. He's so obedient and conscientious and THINK FAST!"

Timmy only just dodged Foop's zap. The sparks hit the pile of plates. They all toppled over and smashed into pieces.

"You clumsy oaf!" Foop snarled.

"Now, honey, it ain't nice tuh zap people." She poofed up a dustpan and brush, which Timmy took to sweep up the shards. He had just collected every last shred of earthenware when a clang rang out from afar. The drawbridge had fallen and was letting someone in. A whistled tune pierced the air.

"I'm home, dear," Anti-Cosmo announced.

The hair stood up on the back of Timmy's neck. He abandoned the things formerly known as plates and ducked behind the island just as his new least favourite person entered.

"How is everybody on this fine day?"

"AH DIDN'T SAY NOTHIN'!" his wife screeched again. "Ah mean, we's good. Yuh work good?"

"We were remarkably productive." Timmy dared to peer round and caught the leader dumping his briefcase on a counter. "We have a choice of three plans to take over the world, all of them foolproof."

"Ooh, is that going to be our Saturday Fun-Time?" Foop asked, practically bouncing off the walls.

"Indeed it is." He and his son held hands and spun in a circle together. "I'm in a good mood, boy. There's a storm in the air, the world will soon be ours, and your mother has revealed nothing about Timothy to the meddling fairies. Yes, things are going swimmingly."

Anti-Wanda tugged at her collar. "Ah didn't wanna say it, but…"

The man let go of Foop and regarded his wife.

"It ain't goin' swimmin'ly. It's goin' drownin'ly."

Anti-Cosmo's left eye, the one not covered by the monocle, started twitching. "What do you mean, woman?"

"Ah mean…" She appealed to Foop, who merely shrugged.

Her husband grabbed the front of her t-shirt. "Answer me!"

She swallowed. "Ah may've sorta kinda told 'em everythin'," she whispered quickly.

The suspense was killing everyone.

The smack echoed across the castle, as did the thump when Anti-Wanda hit the cold stone floor.

"This is why I never take you anywhere! You're not fit to leave the house! You're not fit to LIVE! If it were up to me, I'd have married ANYONE else! Anti-Cupid, Anti-Juandissimo – even Anti-Binky would be preferable to this TRAMP!" He bore down on his injured wife, who whimpered and held up her hands in surrender. "At least THEY don't make promises they can't keep! At least THEY don't tell you they're going to do something and then do the opposite! You're an IMBECILE! You're a WASTE OF SPACE! You're a-" Anti-Cosmo's rant was interrupted when he spied the dustpan on the floor. "What have we here?" he asked, much more quietly.

"He broke the plates, Father," Foop burst in, darting behind the island and lifting Timmy into view. "I could have fixed them with my ba-ba, but I left them there to preserve the evidence."

"Perfect," his father muttered. Then he patted Foop on the head. "You did the right thing by not doing anything."

The square-shaped infant dropped Timmy and nodded, probably relieved to know he was still in favour.

Anti-Wanda crawled onto her knees. "Ah don't think that's exactly what happened-" she chipped in.

"Why should I trust anything you say anymore?" her partner cut her off. He looked at Timmy, then Anti-Wanda, then Timmy again, then Anti-Wanda again, before finally snatching a clump of Timmy's hair. "I'll deal with you first."

ANTI-POOF!

They were in the master bedroom again. Anti-Cosmo let go; Timmy rubbed his head and blinked away the dizziness. He watched the elegant brute pacing the width of the room, talking to himself.

"They said bringing down my enemies would make life easier. Well, it hasn't. I've been lumbered with some blundering imp who causes trouble whatever he does. I should have changed the terms of the agreement. Failure could have brought … death. Yes, that would have been an infinitely better prevention technique. More permanent. No risk of his blasted loved ones coming here seeking to reclaim him. Very much against Da Rules, yes, but that's never stopped me before."

He halted. He focused on Timmy, who instinctively took a step back. Who wouldn't, when the person approaching them had been contemplating murder a few seconds earlier?

"What did you do to yourself?" Anti-Cosmo sighed. "You had such promise, Timothy. Had you committed your energies to something other than foiling my schemes, you could have been a great man." His hands stroked Timmy's neck, tickling him slightly, rising and coming to a rest at his cheeks. "Such are the joys of hindsight. What are we going to do with you now, eh?" He ran a thumb along the overbite.

There was no reason to assume it, but the notion flooded Timmy's brain nonetheless: _He's going to pull my teeth out!_

He wriggled free, eyes flying between his captor and the exit.

"Timothy?" Anti-Cosmo's hands hung on to the empty space, and then dropped to his side. "Don't you trust me?"

It was strange. From the way the monster's eyes were moistening, Timmy could swear he was on the verge of tears.

It had been a complex plan, getting a godchild to completely surrender his old way of life, and there was so much that could have gone wrong. The mastermind clearly hadn't expected to succeed. Evil never wins against good. This time, however, it had. No-one could have anticipated it. No-one had a back-up plan detailing what to do should this event arise. No-one would ever read to children the fairy tale in which the wicked stepmother was the one to live happily ever after – because such a fairy tale could not exist.

Or, rather, if it did, there would inevitably be a sequel in which the heroine reclaimed her rightful destiny. That was the trouble with success: it was never completely accepted by one's peers. Today, for instance, Anti-Wanda's loose lips had threatened the peace, threatened to spark a war between the boy's original parents and his new guardians.

When evil was triumphant, what happened next? If Anti-Cosmo wanted to cling on to his victory, rather than relinquishing it once more to his counterparts, where did he go from here?

"Come back." He beckoned the lad with his fingers. "Come closer."

Timmy looked him up and down. There was bound to be another trick up his sleeve.

"I don't bite, Timothy," he insisted. "I want to try something. An experiment, as it were."

If Timmy still had a beating heart, it would be fluttering like the wings of a caged bird. He was certain he didn't want to take part in this experiment. But if he refused, there would be a penalty waiting for him, and it would be more painful than the task originally proposed. Being grounded was always worse than not doing the dishes.

He crept up. Slowly. Too slowly.

The blue demon swooped in and kissed him.

There was no trace of the lust that had possessed the anti-fairy last night. There was no grunting and moaning, no forcing of bodies together, no sense of urgency. It was just Anti-Cosmo gently sucking Timmy's lips. It was just Anti-Cosmo wrapping his azure arms around Timmy's ochre body. It was just an action. There was nothing behind it.

Their mouths parted. Their eyes met. "Fascinating," Anti-Cosmo breathed.

Fascinating? Timmy frowned. What did that word even mean? And why was there a deep wash of pink on his gaoler's cheeks? Was he – was he _blushing_?

The elder one chuckled. "It's all very confusing, isn't it?"

Colour flashed in Timmy's peripheral vision. He turned his head.

Three birds, one green, one pink and one purple, were perched outside on the branch of a withered black tree. The purple one held a piece of paper in its beak.

Timmy's grin reached his ears.

Cosmo! Wanda! Poof!

They'd got his message!

They were here!

He ran to the window and flung it open.

"Timothy! What is the meaning of this?"

His saviours ducked inside, morphing into their true forms, standing firm as a barrier between abuser and victim.

Wanda was the first to speak. "All right, Anti-Cosmo. You've had your fun, but it's over now. GIVE US BACK OUR GODSON!" she screeched, seizing him by the lapels of his jacket.

Anti-Cosmo simply smiled and prised her fingers away. "I think you'll find he's mine now. We have a contract. He signed up for the Eternity Scheme knowing exactly what he was agreeing to. There's no way out."

"What about that window?" Cosmo pointed.

"I meant there's no way out of the contract, you nincompoop!" He shifted them aside and rested an arm around Timmy, ignoring Poof's low growl. "You three are powerless. For is it not against Da Rules to forcefully steal a godchild from another magical creature?"

"He's not your godchild," Wanda corrected him. "Godchildren are meant to be loved and cheered up. That's not what we've seen." She took the letter from Poof and waved it at him. "You've made him feel 'dirty and small'. You've made him miserable."

Scanning the page, Anti-Cosmo's face fell, but only temporarily. "Have I?" He nudged his prisoner forward. "Tell them, Timothy. Tell them how much you've missed them. Tell them how awful it is to live here."

Timmy opened his mouth. He went no further. His jaw snapped shut again.

That wretched contract!

Had his letter to his godparents mentioned the fact that he couldn't talk anymore? No, it had not. Which was just his luck.

The longer the silence, the more convincing the wrong message became. The longer the silence, the more Cosmo and Wanda's determined frowns softened into looks of concern. The longer the silence, the more they would believe him to be admitting the opposite of how he really felt.

"You can't be serious," said Wanda, confirming his suspicions. "You can't be happy with the way things have turned out." She held her wand with whitening knuckles. "You can't have grown to _like_ him after he did this to you! You can't have enjoyed that – that _kiss_." The last word was hushed, like a shameful secret.

Timmy shook his head, raven locks flying. It wasn't enough. She wasn't convinced. He searched the room, his breath short. He could write it down. But he did that before. They wanted speech. He couldn't get that for them. He couldn't say the words they needed to hear.

He moulded himself as best as he could. He knitted his eyebrows together, gritted his teeth, clenched his fists to hide the clammy palms and hoped they could read his mind.

Wanda closed her eyes and hung her head.

Poof tugged at her saffron sleeve. "Poof, poof?"

She hugged her baby. "I'm sorry, sport. We've lost him."

Those words squeezed at Timmy's brain, eradicating every emotion except the guilt that was carved into him like a scar.

The Fairywinkle-Cosmas did not react when the mesh first swept over their heads. It took a couple of seconds before they blinked, did a double take and tried to expand the diamond-shaped holes to no avail.

They were enclosed in one of the fairies' few weaknesses: a butterfly net.

Anti-Cosmo lowered his wand and snapped his fingers. His son emerged from a puff of smoke.

"You clicked?"

"Foop, take these intruders to the dungeon and throw away the key."

"Yes, father."

As the baby heaved the bundle over his tiny shoulder and dragged the fairies away, Timmy spied their faces through the string, their heavy eyelids and downturned mouths. He spun around, unable to hold their confused gazes. A spasm rocked his body. He clutched his chest. His heart was breaking.

"Timothy…" Anti-Cosmo lingered. "I was considering giving this back to you."

He reached inside his jacket and revealed a long lilac ribbon, decorated with lemon-yellow musical notes. When he put his finger on one of the symbols, a familiar sound rang out. "Uh, my name is Timmy Turner, I'm ten years old… What? You want me to _keep_ talking? Okay, uh, I live in Dimmsdale with my mom and dad…"

Timmy thought he'd never hear it again.

The kid stretched his eager hands out, grasping for the substance.

Anti-Cosmo flew just out of reach, dangling the band above his head like a grown-up teasing a baby with their car keys. "Of course, after observing how delightfully helpless you are without it, it might be more fun to withhold it for a little longer."

Timmy leapt up, swiping for the ribbon, missing, being laughed at. He finally caught one end and tugged it between his lips. He needed to swallow it. He needed to speak again. He needed to find Cosmo and Wanda and Poof and tell them the truth and put everything back to normal.

Anti-Cosmo snatched it back before he could say anything. Timmy retaliated, and both flew across the room, Anti-Cosmo zipping through the air trying to shake the child off, Timmy digging his feet into the ground and clinging on for dear life. It was a dangerous game of tug-and-war. But Timmy was strong, pulling his voice down, down, down towards him. He was winning. He was sure of it.

Until he ripped the vocal stream in half.

His face slammed into the floor. The sound of himself spouting facts about his life spluttered and started crackling, like a radio with poor signal.

If Timmy had been able to scream "NO!" at the top of his lungs, he would have done. Anti-Cosmo released the second half, and the boy tried to push the torn edges back together. But each attempt to reattach the two bands only succeeded in tearing the fabric into smaller and smaller shreds. With each clumsy fingering, each hole dug out with a cursed claw, the melodious sound broke apart until it was slowing down and lowering in pitch, close to death. He stopped fighting. He gave up. The fragments drifted to the ground, turned to dust at his feet, and melted into nothingness.

There was another long silence. Timmy was beginning to hate the silence.

"Farewell, sweet voice," Anti-Cosmo eventually sneered. "Poor Timothy. You're never going to make yourself heard again. Your fairies are never going to know how much you miss them. And, just as before," he continued, lowering himself to the kid's level, "you have only yourself to blame."

Baring his fangs, the child pounced on the anti-fairy, flattening him on the bed.

Initially, Anti-Cosmo gasped at the intensity in the boy's glare. However, it turned into a guffaw. "Oh, Timothy! I didn't realise you were so eager!"

On hearing this, Timmy's eyes widened and he quickly moved away, but the anti-fairy was too strong for him, yanking him back, pressing him to his chest, rolling him over.

The second time was no less repulsive than the first.

…

The torches on either side of the door offered the only light in the dungeon. Cosmo and Wanda sat opposite each other, leaning against the wall, arms raised above their heads and held in place by shackles. Poof bounced up and down on the floor between them, attached to a ball and chain. It had been this way since late last night. Every part of their cell – the walls, the benches, even the toilet – was lined with comfortable-but-restrictive butterfly netting. Their wands dangled on a keyring in the corridor, tantalisingly out of reach.

"Hey, Wanda," Cosmo suddenly said. "There were two prisoners and one said to the other, 'What are you doing?' And the other one said, 'Oh, nothing much, just … _hanging around_!'"

He laughed at himself. It fizzled out when Wanda didn't respond.

He tried another joke. "What do you get when people wear chains on a catwalk? Shackle chic! Get it? Like shabby chic, but not…" He waited. She just stared back at him, not even smiling. "Man, tough crowd," the green-haired one remarked.

"Cosmo, I know you mean well, but for pity's sake, _shut up_."

The green-haired godfather stood up and leaned out as far as he could go, seeking to close the gap between him and his wife. "What's wrong, lamb chop?"

"What's right?" she spat. "We've been robbed."

"Of our money? When did that happen?"

"OF TIMMY! For crying out loud-" She slumped down, giving up. "We've been robbed of the best godson we've had in thousands of years. He's fallen under the spell of that – that savage family."

"And you're just going to sit there and accept it?"

"Are you?"

"No way! I'm getting out of here and getting Timmy back." He hovered, wings flapping wildly, and aimed for the door. The chains didn't budge. "Just – a – little – further-"

"If you want to escape, you'll need a real plan, dunderhead. One that doesn't rely on developing a sudden immunity to butterfly nets."

"Yeah, I haven't got that far." Cosmo stopped resisting. "But I _do_ know that something's not right with Timmy. We haven't heard the whole story."

"He wouldn't tell us the whole story."

"Maybe he can't. I mean, didn't they add a new rule to the Eternity Scheme? 'If you don't do a good job, you can't talk', or something like that." He noticed how his wife stared into space. "Uh-oh, you've got that thinking face again."

She looked him in the eye and smiled. "Cosmo, you're right!"

"What? I was right about something?" He started hyperventilating.

"Of course he wouldn't be able to talk! No-one on the Eternity Scheme does! Why didn't I think of that? It's all been a big misunderstanding!" She waited for her husband to recover. "We have to get out."

As if answering her prayers, Anti-Wanda floated into view. "Who's in the mood fuh tongue o' dog pizza?" she asked, wielding a cloche.

"Nobody," her counterpart replied. "We're in the mood for freedom."

"No can do, Pinkie Pie. Boss's orders." At the mention of Anti-Cosmo, the blue bumpkin choked up; she swallowed and forced the phlegm down.

Cosmo noticed. "Are you okay?"

"Jus' dandy. Hunky-dory. Zip-a-dee-doo-dah. Why d'ya ask?" Her smile was too big. It didn't crinkle under her eyes.

"Do you love Anti-Cosmo?" the male prisoner asked.

Anti-Wanda shrugged. "Sure."

"Does he love you?"

"Uh…" She rubbed the back of her neck. "Well, he's handsome, ain't he?"

That didn't answer Cosmo's question.

"Look, Ah know he's diabolical an' all that, but he's still mah husband. Yuh don't see 'im after he comes home. Yuh don't – well – yuh don't see how soft he whips me when we's alone."

"He WHIPS you?" Wanda gasped.

"Ya wanna see?"

Ant-Wanda turned around and took her t-shirt off.

Her back was absolutely hideous. It was covered in ridged lines, some curved and others straight, some thick and others thin, some dark red and others black, all of them definitely not supposed to be there.

"Anti-Wanda," the correlative began (once she had found the words), "husbands don't do that to their wives."

"'Cept when the wife needs correctin'."

"Correcting?" Wanda repeated. "What other lies has he told you?"

"Don't listen to him," Cosmo added. "He's an evil son-of-a-taco!"

"Son-of-a- _taco_?" his wife queried.

"Is that not the phrase?"

"Not even close. But we're getting away from the point." She floated as close to Anti-Wanda as the shackles would allow. "You don't have to stay with a man who treats you that way."

"Aw, lookit Mrs High 'n' Mighty tryna do her bit! Well, it's too late, ya floozy!" She stamped her foot. "You's the one what did this to me! Yuh married that kind, gentle simpleton, so what do I got? A nasty old man who knows too much 'bout me an' how idiotic Ah am! Y'all ain't got no right tuh tell me how Anti-Cosmo's s'posed tuh treat me!" She burst into tears, clinging onto the bars in the door, her only stabilisers.

"Anti-Wanda, it's okay." Cosmo wanted to pat her on the back, but made do with patting the empty space between them. "We can help you. But only if you help us first."

"How?"

Cosmo took the letter from his pocket and thrust it in her direction.

"Yeah, no, Ah can't read."

"It's a letter Timmy sent us. That guy who looks like me but isn't me is out of control. He's getting to Timmy. He could be hurting him as much as he hurt you, or worse! You need to let us out and let Timmy go home with us."

"Ah don't know," Anti-Wanda sniffed. "Ah mean, they gots a contract. Yuh can't break 'em so easy. An' – an' yuh still don't understand! Ah can't fight Cozzie. Ah ain't got the strength no more."

"Do you want Timmy to go through what you did?"

"Nuh-uh, but-"

"Nuh-uh but nothing!" A vein throbbed on Cosmo's forehead. "Listen to me, woman-who-looks-like-my-wife-but-isn't-my-wife! If you know how we can get Timmy back, you'd better let us out of this dungeon and tell us what to do!"

The force of his determination broke the chains that once held him back.

Anti-Wanda gave a sideways glance at the staircase leading out of the dungeon. "Ah have an idea," she admitted. "Ah know a book what mah hubby uses sometimes. It might help y'all too if yuh can read it. But Ah gotta tell ya, a lotta stuff in there ain't purdy."

…

That morning, Anti-Cosmo had asked his slave to sweep the chimney … with a toilet plunger. So many ridiculous chores! The rascal was only demanding it to secure Timmy's failure, to have an excuse to get him back into bed, to satisfy his craving to do harm.

A clump of soot, knocked out of place by Timmy's poke, plummeted and exploded in the kid's hair. Anti-Cosmo sniggered. He had observed Timmy since they both woke up. There had been no chance for the boy to slip away, find the dungeon and have another go at explaining everything.

Timmy sighed, brushing the soot off his shoulders. Having so many silly tasks was just like being babysat by Vicky. Worse, even, because at least Vicky never actually used her weapons against him. There were many occasions when the teeth of the chainsaw came incredibly close to his face, but she always retreated before he could get hurt, the instruments remaining merely a taunt. By contrast, Anti-Cosmo knew how to wound with a gesture, a comment, even a look.

And at least Vicky never…

Timmy blinked back another round of tears. He'd been crying more since he left that cursed jigsaw unfinished than he had in his entire life. How long ago was that? It had been a week after Valentine's Day when he was disfigured, and then … he'd lost track. Every day was identical: the clouds were always the same shade of red, and the temperature always felt like just a few degrees above freezing.

Spring would be coming soon on Earth. The flowers would be budding, and Timmy would be missing it. Sure, he'd never cared that much about spring in the past. He'd probably have wanted to stay indoors and play video games rather than admire the blossoms, and his mom would probably have urged him to make the most of this beautiful day… He smiled to himself. Right now, he pined for the nagging. He pined for the choice, the choice between going out and having fun or staying in and having fun, rather than being confined to an endless timeline of toil punctuated by tears, of silence punctuated by sneers.

Timmy tried to recall the last occasion when he'd spoken to anyone (not counting the conversation in the tent that he would rather just forget). He knew he had to preserve the memories, but time and emotion were already distorting the words. Soon, they would distort the noise as well, until he would completely forget what he used to sound like.

He clambered onto a sort-of shelf behind the logs, starting to climb the chimney. A murky tunnel jutted out to the side. He could get lost in here. Maybe he could hide from Anti-Cosmo in here. Or maybe the evil genius would flush him out and spank him for shirking his duties.

Timmy flopped down on the shelf, overcome by another bout of despair. If he wasn't a cleaner, he was a punching bag. If he wasn't a punching bag, he was a toy. He certainly wasn't a person anymore. He knew that much.

His master poked his head up. "I don't hear sweeping!"

The worker squished the plunger onto Anti-Cosmo's head and sent him packing without fully understanding or controlling his anger.

"So you don't want to use my carefully-selected tools?" the man called. "Fine, do it by hand! Enjoy the backbreaking labour!" He snickered.

Timmy scraped at the sides of the chimney, searching for slots to hook his fingers and toes into. If he was doomed to fail, he wasn't about to stick around for the aftermath. But all the soot uncovered was smooth, unhelpful brick. He gritted his teeth and sped up. He could not go through that torture again, no matter what.

A pink spider dropped onto his nose. "Psst. Timmy. It's us," she whispered.

He stopped. His hope was sparked once more.

"We're sorry we didn't believe you last night. If we'd known about why you couldn't talk, we wouldn't have forced an answer out of you."

"Yeah," piped up a green fly trapped in a web and guarded by a smaller purple spider. "But it's okay. We're here now, and we've got a spell to save you."

"We'll need to wait until Anti-Cosmo's distracted," said the spider.

Timmy nodded.

As if by magic, a Southern accent rung out, "Cozzie! Y'all ain't gonna believe this! Some punk's tryna block them roads with stuffed animals!"

"Good grief! Leave it to me, crumpet. I'll sort it out faster than you can say, 'Machiavelli'!"

"Ya what now?"

"Oh, I'll explain it all to you later. I don't have time now."

The door slammed. Timmy slipped out through the fireplace. The spiders and the fly followed him and turned back into fairies. With a flick of Cosmo's wrist, the door was covered in planks, locking out everyone except Timmy and his rescuers.

Wanda produced three daggers out of thin air. "Here's the plan, sport. First, you need to take one of these knives and stab Cosmo in the heart."

Timmy looked at his godmother as if she'd grown a second head.

"Just hear me out. When you slide it out of his chest, make sure the blood falls onto your feet – both feet. Then you need to stab me in the same place, but this time, it has to spill onto your head. Finally, slice open Poof's tongue with the third blade, get the blood in your mouth and make sure you swallow. You'll turn back into a human being, you'll have your voice again, and everything will go back to normal."

Timmy shook his head and tried to give the weapons back. This was crazy! He wasn't going to kill his godparents and mutilate Poof and soak up their vital fluids! He wasn't so desperate to leave this place that he would _murder_ two-thirds of his fairy family!

And yet Wanda would not take the daggers from him. "Please, Timmy, it's the only way. I know it's gruesome, but we have to try. And if you're worried about killing us, don't be. Fairies are notoriously fast healers. Now let's do this before that man gets back."

"Me first!" Cosmo butted in, plonking himself on the bed and yanking his shirt open without being asked, as if this was something to be excited about.

Timmy took a deep breath, closed his eyes and lunged.

"OW!"

On hearing the cry, the godson pulled back instantly, dropping the blade. A macabre fountain spurted from Cosmo's chest, caking Timmy's waiting feet in a disturbingly warm crimson liquid.

In almost no time, the flow was stemmed.

"I guess it's my turn now," said Wanda, nudging Cosmo aside and lifting her t-shirt up.

The task was still no easier. Timmy still refused to regard the carnage he was creating. At least Wanda was kinder to him by biting her tongue and not crying out. She also did most of the work by aiming her sanguine jets at his head, splashing and soaking his knotted hair.

The boy had no idea how he appeared to his godparents, but when he felt the blood trickling down his back, he knew it would not be a pleasant sight.

The third stage would be the hardest of all. Poof had been watching with wide eyes and giggling to himself, obviously not comprehending the severity of what was happening.

Timmy pulled the baby's tongue out. _I'm sorry, brother._

He made a small nick at the tip.

A second passed while Poof registered the action, and then he started to wail, squirting red gore in Timmy's face. Storm clouds gathered on the ceiling; lightning struck the desk and thunder rumbled across the room. Bad things always happened whenever Poof cried.

Timmy caught a couple of drops in his mouth and gulped them down. He grabbed his neck. His throat was on fire. It was getting worse, burning, burning, burning. He screamed.

He screamed!

 _I'm screaming!_

Cosmo covered his mouth. "It's great to hear that it worked, pal, but you might want to keep it down. Heh, and they say I'm the moron!"

There were three sharp knocks on the door. "Timothy! Are you all right? What are you doing in there? Open this door at once or I'll open it for you!" More knocking.

"He's back!" Wanda thrust her staff in Timmy's direction. "Quick, make a wish!"

"I-I-I wish we were in Dimmsdale!" he spluttered.

When Anti-Cosmo blasted the door apart and entered his bedroom, he found blood on the mattress, lightning-singed furniture and used knives abandoned on the floor – and his Timothy was nowhere to be seen.

…

POOF!

There was nothing special about this bedroom; it just had a wardrobe and a bed and a desk and a chest of drawers and a goldfish bowl. But to Timmy, it was the most wonderful sight in the world because it was his home.

The only tiny thing marring the special moment was the weird thudding in his ears. Then he realised the cause. His heart was beating again.

His hands and feet tingled as the blood began to flow through them once more. His skin flushed with its original tone. His fangs and claws slid away painlessly. The black tangled mess on his head fell to the floor and a shorter brown mane grew in its place. His fairies watched it all with happy faces, and he smiled back.

"How do you feel?" Wanda asked, somewhat unnecessarily.

"Amazing. I'm home again. I'm me again. I'm talking."

"You're naked," Cosmo added.

He glanced down. He grimaced. He was still splattered with blood and bathed in soot, and yes, he was naked. He hastily covered himself up, though the damage had been done. "I wish I was clean and dressed."

A second later, Timmy was surrounded by a glittery cloud of fairy dust. When it cleared, he was fresh as a daisy and wearing his familiar blue trousers and pink t-shirt and hat.

Outside the door, someone yelled, "I'm not going to bed! You can't make me!"

Timmy raised an eyebrow. It sounded a lot like … him. "Who's that?"

Wanda popped into her goldfish disguise. "Oh, boy. I'd forgotten the clone."

Cosmo and Poof joined her in the bowl. Timmy ducked under the bed. An almost-identical youngster was tossed inside by a furious father, who told him, "And maybe while you're dreaming, you'll lose that attitude problem!"

The door slammed. The second Timmy brushed off his clothes. "Well, I'm not tired." He picked up the bowl and shook it. "Cosmo! Wanda! Paddleball! Go!"

"Gah! Not paddleball!" Cosmo swam behind his wife, using her as a shield. "Anything but paddleball!"

"What's wrong with that?" the original Timmy asked, emerging from his hiding place.

"Wanda's the paddle and I'm the ball!"

" _What?_ " Timmy approached the stunned copycat. "Playtime's over, buddy. I wish this clone was as far away from here as possible!"

In the blink of an eye, the lookalike was encased in a see-through space pod, which blasted through the ceiling before he could react.

"Have fun in Boudacia!" Cosmo yelled after it. "Give our regards to Princess Mandie!"

"Good riddance to bad rubbish." Wanda blinked at the sky and the stars that twinkled back at her. "Wow, how late is it? Maybe you _should_ be in bed! Here, I'll get your jim-jams."

"Wait a minute, didn't you guys quit? Wouldn't you have to do that _Fairy Idol_ thing to un-quit?"

"We'll talk to Jorgen in the morning and sort it all out," Wanda soothed. "You go to bed and get a good night's sleep." She lifted him into the air and effortlessly slid his pyjamas on.

"I don't think I can sleep," Timmy fretted, wrapping the blankets around him as if they could make a bulletproof vest. "What if Anti-Cosmo finds me and takes me away again? What if he's really mad that I got out and he – he-?" He shivered. He couldn't finish his question.

"Relax, sport. I've taken care of everything. I've put out a massive cloaking spell so he can't track us down."

"Who's this 'sport' you're talking to?" asked Cosmo, squinting and scouring the bedroom.

"Which apparently works too well," Wanda sighed. She raised her glowing wand.

POOF!

"Timmy!" Cosmo cried. "Where did you come from?"

The godson giggled. "Man, it's good to be home," he said. "And it's good that we're together again." He stared at the ceiling. "I can't believe you guys still wanted me back, after all the stupid stuff I did."

Wanda settled beside him. "Timmy, if we stopped being your godparents after every stupid thing you did, we wouldn't have made it to the first anniversary." She held him close. "You're part of the family, sweetie, and families don't leave each other behind."

Timmy returned the embrace and blinked back the tears – tears of happiness this time. Poof squeezed between them, burbling to himself.

"Yay, group hug!" Cosmo cheered, flying nearer to join in.

"Stay back!" Timmy yelped. He pushed his godfather away.

Cosmo hit the wall. He blinked. His bottom lip quivered. "What was that for?"

"Sorry, sorry. I'm just – I'm not used to – I mean – you're-" Their eyes were boring into him; he couldn't take it. "Goodnight," Timmy finished, rolling over and blocking them out. The conversation was over.

Before he drifted off, completely exhausted from the whirlwind events of the day, he caught Wanda whispering, "He just needs a little time." There was only a twinge of guilt left as he fell asleep.


End file.
